Guérison
by the ticking clock
Summary: It's a little ironic, Ezekiel thinks, that the boy with the demon blood has wings.


Entering Sam's body feels like being burned.

The boy's shell of a corpse is so broken and destroyed that for a second Ezekiel is simply swept up in the pure agony of dying-the fight for breath, the shuddering clenches of the heart, the bloated agony of the body shutting down-but then his grace twines through the boy's nerves, and sinews and bones, and the fire dulls to a slow ache.

He reaches deep into Sam's mind and attaches himself there. A wall of protest, weak, but still subtly strong resists his intrusion. _No..._

_ Shhh, I'm trying to help you, _the nickname slips from his mind effortlessly, having already accessed the boy's memories, _Sammy. _

Sam has already said yes, but his mind still protests.

_I'm going to make the pain go away. _

_ It hurts. _

_ I know. Shhh...just sleep. _Quietly, Ezekiel hushes the boy's whispers with a quiet flicker of a wing brush. His wings have been condensed, pressed against Sam's weakened shoulder blades, but the caresses of his feathers seems to calm his vessel.

The healing processes is slow and taxing, especially with his broken Grace, but he has Sam's memories and heart to distract himself.

He pours himself into the boy, pulls at the broken nerve endings and the shattered bones, the weakened muscles and the burned out veins. He soothes and heals the burns with cool touches and gentle murmurs when Sam's soul screams for release...

His soul...

Ezekiel has heard the stories of course, how Sam had been trapped in the cage with Lucifer and Adam, that he had been tortured and torn to shreds while Lucifer laughed. His soul is patched and burning, and Ezekiel cries out when he touches it, even just to soothe the wild agony of seething beneath the surface.

_Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry. _

The memories sting against his consciousness, Dean screaming, "If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" the horrible, addicting burn of demon blood against his tongue, the feeling of it simmering in his veins, the thoughts, _I'm unclean, I'm unclean, I'm a freak, I'm broken, there's something wrong with me, I'm not good, I can't be like Dean, I will never be like Dean..._

Ezekiel pulls away after a few seconds of Sam's memories screaming through his mind, reminded of Lucifer. The parallels between his brother and Sam are striking, and he can see why Lucifer would pick Sam as his vessel.

Very gently he stokes the edge of Sam's left arm muscle, piecing the it back together strand my strand. _I'll fix you, Sam. _

_ I'm unclean, _His vessel whispers, with a practiced air he's told himself over and over, _I'm unclean, I'm unclean, I just want to be clean-_

All his life, he's struggled with this burden that he's somehow managed to not show Dean, at least for the past few years. Dean has no idea that his little brother still wakes up at night with nightmares of Ruby coating his skin with kisses and his mouth sucking the blood from her wrist. Dean doesn't know that sometimes Sam still craves the blood running through his veins, he still wants the bitter, pleasant buzz that comes from the taste of demon blood.

Dean doesn't know all the dark thoughts that Sammy keeps buried deep within his screaming soul. Perhaps Castiel does, after reaching inside the boy to look for his shattered, broken soul. Yes, Ezekiel can feel his brother's fingerprints on the outside of Sam's abdomen, searing and white hot to the touch.

_I'm unclean, _Sam is still whimpering the words, a mantra of suffering and broken wishes. _I'm unclean, I'm unclean, I'm unclean. _

He still whispers the words, deep in the recesses of his subconscious, even once Ezekiel subtly slips into the back of Sam's mind and let's his vessel have control while he heals. Even when Sam goes out on that ridiculous hunt with his brother, and Ezekiel doesn't protest, he watches from the back of Sam's knee cap as he knits muscles back together that have subtle importance but are imperative to movement, as the demons surround Sam, and the pain cuts through him, and he is thrown against the wall. The demons laugh and advance, slowly, taking their time.

Sam's soul screams for release as his head cracks against the hard plaster, and Ezekiel sees his chance and seizes it.

His grace rushes to Sam's arms, and his eyes, until the burning glow consumes him. His wings slowly, slowly, painfully expand from the boy's shoulder blades, burn with shadowed angel fire against the walls. Power rushes through the veins that once burned with demon blood, and Ezekiel feels powerful and clean. Not quite himself, but some of Sam's fight has seeped into his consciousness and he bathes himself in it. The demons fall and smoke before his wrath and the rush of angel grace through the Sam's body burns with a pleasant sting that is different than demon blood.

Dean stumbles in, and Ezekiel snaps his head around. "They were trying to hurt your brother." He folds his wings flat against Sam's back, and listens for the whisper of Sam's mind to make sure the head trauma has not done all of his work.

In sleep Sam is more like Sammy than even Dean remembers. His mind moves slowly through thoughts in careful circles, whispering, _Jessica, _and _blood, _and _Dean. _

_ I am unclean, _hisses at the edge of his subconscious, but Ezekiel lifts a wing to calm the thought. _No, _He says, and because Sam is still asleep, whispers, _Sammy, you're not. _

Sam's conscious mind stirs, and Ezekiel retreats back to heal before his presence is realized. But he whispers one more time, _You are not unclean, Sammy. _

He laughs when he thinks about it later, because it is a little ironic, that the boy with the demon blood has wings.


End file.
